Breaking Them In
by Quinnbot
Summary: Cal has taken on another charity case, and drags Gillian along with to sort it out. In the midst of the case, a strange man comes out of the woodwork, with an aim to intimidate Foster. Has Cal gotten them into trouble, and dragged her into it? Or...?
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters, or the show. Forgive me for a little bit of liberty I've taken with creating some backstory that isn't exactly known yet. What can I say? I'm impatient!

The clicking of Gillian Foster's heels against the Lightman Group's hallway floor did not help with her intention to slip in unnoticed at the beginning of the day. The clicks were a little irregular, which probably made her all the more noticeable. They were bright cobalt blue satin pumps, with just enough heel to be practical, yet enough to draw admiring looks. And, they hurt like hell. Actually, it was just the right foot. Had it suddenly gotten larger?

"Oi, Foster!" she heard bouncing off of the walls from the interiors of Cal's office. It never ceased to amaze her how often he managed to beat her to the office whenever she decided to get out of the house extra early. Cal appeared in his doorway and leaned against the jamb. He looked her over as briefly as he could, but his eyes got stuck on her shoes. He kept his mouth shut, but was clearly thinking something, and was just waiting to be asked.

"Yes?" she said, crossing her arms.

Cal squinted at her and drove his hands into his pockets, "Well, since you ask, what are _those_?"

Gillian shifted her gaze a bit, and her weight, too. Her right foot, if it could speak, would beg for mercy.

"I'm torturing myself. It's something that women like to do, from time to time."

He raised a brow. "Hmm. Well, Foster, I had no idea that you were uh, into such things."

Gillian rolled her eyes.

"If you don't mind, could you, uh... could you torture your way into my office? I've got somethin' to show ya'."

As some early arrivals to the office walked past, she gave them a nod as she tried to be graceful while walking into Cal's office. Gillian loved Cal's office. She thought that her office was better, due to the ready availability of candies, but there was something to hanging out in Cal's office.

"What are we looking at?"

"Just watch, love."

On the projector, there was a man—maybe 32-years-old—looking pale and shifty. He had just sat down from turning on the camera, and was clearly filming himself. Gillian saw the light mist of sweat at his hairline, watched his pupils, amongst other indicators. His breathing was fast.

_"My name is Owen Hardwick,"_ he said, seeming to have some difficulty with even his name. _"and I know... I know more than I should about some very dangerous people. I'll tell you what I can, but first, please tell my sister Jenny that I love her. Tell her I'm sorry that I had to leave her alone. I... Don't let her see me like this. Don't tell her what was at stake."_

"Wait, wait, wait," Gillian jumped in to interrupt. Cal put the video on pause. "Where did this come from? Who is this guy? Is he about to blow the whistle on something?"

Cal was quiet, and looked back at Gillian with his silent eye communication which he reserved for the privileged few.

"Did he... did he kill _himself_?"

Cal took a deep breath. "It certainly looks that way, doesn't it?"

"What do we know about it?"

"We got it in the mail yesterday. It was addressed to me, in a padded manila envelope, with some very feminine-looking handwriting on the front." Cal pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "I just got to it this morning. Didn't find anything with it. No note or anything."

"Well, what does he say?"

"He claims that he is... _was_ a staff scientist at Peneagle. They make that proprietary weedkiller which somehow manages to kill every plant except for the crop, the seeds for which are specially tailored by Peneagle."

Gillian uncrossed her arms and stepped toward the projection and to get a better look at the man. On pause, his face was frozen—full of fear, uncertainty, stress—his mouth was in a grimace, and his eyes said...

"Is that guilt?" she asked, turning back to Cal, who leaned against his desk, wholly absorbed.

Cal didn't respond. He was completely absorbed, and in protective mode. He snapped out of it after a prolonged moment of private contemplation. Gillian knew what it was. She knew it from the moment she saw the video. A suicide.

"Yeah. Yeah, it looks like it is."

"Are you thinking of pursuing this?"

He frowned slightly. She knew that there was a low likelihood of dissuading him.

"I'm sure we can right it off, or something."

"Cal, why'd you bring me in here? You know that I can't stop you."

"Can't, or won't?" he asked, his brows turning up with that look he gave her when he wanted her to say something more. She could never be sure how many steps ahead of her that he was, but was sure sometimes that he knew her thoughts before she did.

"How about both, Cal?" she asked with a sigh. "What can I do?"

"Watch the video," he said, "Look, I'm gonna get some uh, something to drink from the place at the corner. Do you want one of your coffees?"

"Sure," she said, while he grabbed his jacket to head out.

On his way out the door, he snuck in, "Foster, do you think that we can make it to Blacksburg by lunch?"

Before she could respond, he was out the door. "Are we changing our business model TO NON-PROFIT!" she yelled after him.


	2. Chapter 2

Gillian waited out at the curb in front of their building with the file that Cal had quickly pieced together and waited for him to pull up. She had to put all of her weight onto her left foot, of course, but was happy not to drive out to Virginia Tech. She got Cal to agree to drive both ways, which was really the least that he could do.

"Gill?" she heard from behind herself, from an unfamiliar voice. "Gillian Foster?"

She spun around, but in so doing, forgot about standing only on her left foot and felt the shooting pain of her rubbed-raw heel shooting up her leg. The unexpectedness of the pain knocked her off balance for a moment, and out spilled the contents of the file. _Shit_.

Before she could get a look at the stranger who had asked for her attention, she saw the loose materials that she hadn't yet secured into the folder spread out on the ground and immediately went to her knees to retrieve them.

"Here, let me help you with that," the man said.

"No, no," Gillian said, "I've got it." But the man crouched down too, and started picking up the pieces of paper too, his eyes lingering over each piece a little too long. Gillian looked up, suddenly very aware that there was something wrong with the situation.

With the folder back in hand, she stood back up, evenly, on both feet, even though it was painful.

"Who are you?" she asked, as Cal pulled up to the curb. The man's sandy-colored straight hair, functional off-the-rack-suit and generic features meant that he looked like half of a million men who worked in the Greater-D.C. Area. He had just the look of someone who worked for a federal agency. Pick one.

"Don't you remember me?"

Gillian could see that he was hiding another question in there.

Cal stepped out of the car.

"Foster, is everything all right?"

"Yeah," she said while keeping eye contact with the strange man, "we're done here."

"Gillian, I forgot to tell you how lovely that you look in those shoes," the man said, under his breath.

"Oi, what are you on about?"

Gillian turned from the man and got into the car. Cal still stood at the car door, "Get into the car, Cal. Let's go."

She really hoped that the situation wouldn't escalate any further. _Why wasn't he trying to provoke Cal? Is he just interested in me? _Cal relented, and stepped back into the car. The man had probably walked away, but she couldn't be sure.

"You all right, love?" He asked after he had driven for a couple of blocks, because he was pissed off and confused, running through the possibilities in his head. She figured that he knew as much as she did, and that it bothered him.

"Yeah, yeah." She looked over at him, and saw a look of worry that both comforted and bothered her at the same time. She wasn't bothered because he worried—he was a very protective person, and there was no way for her to escape his concern—she was bothered that she had to cause concern for him in the first place. These sorts of things only happened rarely, and rationally, she knew that they weren't her fault. She felt a bit guilty, just the same.

"Do you know him?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer to that one.

"No. I've never seen him before, or heard his voice." She kicked off the offending shoe to take a look at the state of her heel, which was throbbing more than ever after her show of strength. "Not that I'll forget him, now."

Cal was silent. She looked over at him again to see the worry on his face, but tried not to think about it. She turned her attention down to her heel. She bent her knee in closer to herself to try and get a better look at the reason she lost her balance in the first place. It was red and already forming a blister. S_hit. I didn't bring an extra pair of shoes, and I could've_. She rolled her eyes and set her leg back down, and swore, as she looked up, that she caught Cal's eyes off of the road and in the direction of where her leg was. She realized that in taking a look at her heel, that her dress could only ride up her legs a little bit. _Why did I do that?_ Her cheeks flushed hot, so she turned her head to look out the window.

"He got a look at the file," she said, and noticed that her voice was a little bit shaky. _Dammit_. _What's wrong with me!_

"He saw the file?"

"I can't be sure, but I don't think that his primary interest is our work on this case," she said, the flushed feeling finally decreasing. "I dropped the file, because I... this shoe caused me to lose my balance a little." She looked slightly sheepishly over at Cal and saw a hint of incredulity. _God, I hate that_. "Anyway, he did see some of the file as he was 'helping' me to pick the loose pages up, and didn't seem as interested as I would've expected, if that's why he was there."

"Right. He also failed to use the opportunity to stop us, if that's what he wanted. He is trying to intimidate _you_, for some reason, and that's what bothers me, Foster."

"I can't imagine why."

"It's the first stage in successful terrorism—breed fear that cannot be directed at anything specific." Cal was quiet as he said this. He was shuffling through the possibilities again, she was sure of it. "Why don't you think about getting some new shoes that _don't_ cause you pain?"

"These _are _new shoes."

"Why wear them if they hurt so much?"

"_You know_ _why I wear them_."

"Ah, right..."

Her cheeks burned again. This time, it was anger. Which was confused by the realization that her previous flushing over the leg baring was not anger. Or embarrassment, exactly. "You know Cal, I really don't need to be lectured by you. In fact, _it's the LAST_ _thing I need_."

After a moment of silence, she felt the tension in the car dissipate.

"You're right, Foster."

She didn't want to look at him, because if she did, he'd know that he could get away with _anything_ with her. She really could not stay mad at him. Although, he probably knew that.

"Of course I'm right," she mumbled.

"Can we at least stop somewhere to get you some other shoes to wear? I'll buy."

Gillian gave him her best warning glare, but it didn't end up amounting to much.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"So, this is the home of Virginia Tech," Gillian commented, as she stepped out of the car in her new shoes, which were rather uncharacteristic of her . She ended up going with black mules—the only option which didn't require something to rub against her heel, beside Crocs—and felt like a kindergarten teacher.

"Yeah, remember, you were over in California working on that district court judge case over in San Francisco when the shooting went down. I ended up getting called in to consult on that one."

"Who can forget? That was a terrible tragedy."

"Well, if what Owen Hardwick claimed was true, we might be talking about scores more of innocent lives taken, _and_ in the name of money."

"You can't compare one death to another."

"Right, love, but you can justify investigation."

Gillian looked Cal in the eyes for a moment, and felt a flutter in her chest, similar to when she had caught him looking at her legs earlier in the car. She saw his earnest desire to help, his irrepressible sense of obligation to those who could use his help, and remembered... she turned away and looked into her bag for something, before she could remember any further.

"Where shall we start?"

"I _thought_ we were starting with lunch? You are hungry, right? I was sure that your sugar levels would have bottomed out on the ride over, considering that you left those caramels back at the office."

"Are we going to talk to his sister, Jenny Hardwick first? Or, his labmates at Virginia Tech? Professors?"

"Why don't we go inside and discuss this over some barbecue, Foster?"

"Of course, we'll discuss it, but I'd just like to be prepared!"

"Tell me you don't need some sweet, finger-lickin' Carolina barbecue."

"We're in Virginia."

"Stop being difficult, love. I'll see ya in there."

Begrudgingly, she followed him in there. Her feet _did_ feel much better in the mules, but it was tough letting him call all of the shots. Or, maybe it was tough going for a five hour drive without a single piece of candy! Before she knew it, she was sitting at a sticky, vinyl gingham tablecloth, an improvised paper napkin bib tucked into her dress, her attention completely focused on the ribs in her hands. Momma B's secret recipe Carolina sauce was—she was afraid to even think it—better than candy. The biscuits were buttery and flaky, the coleslaw was crisp, a little sweet but mostly tart, but it was the ribs which just killed her. No wonder the place was so busy! All manner of Virginia Tech Hokies were there, from the groundskeepers to the physics professors, packed elbow to elbow. She glanced to her plate for a moment and saw that she was three ribs down, two left, beside the one in her hand. And then she noticed Cal sitting across from her with one of his typical bemused looks, his head resting on his hand as he examined her consumption of Virginia's best kept secret.

"What?" she asked, wiping a bit at her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Nothing," he smiled, "I just don't know if I've ever gotten the chance to see you so... focused on your own pleasure before. It's refreshing."

"What are you talking about!" she giggled, "What about that conference we were at in Bern?"

"It doesn't count. That blonde guy who was buying your drinks had you on guard that whole time."

She took another bite and considered while chewing. She and Cal Lightman had such a long history together, so many experiences, but how many of them were simply fun? He was the best work buddy—her best friend, even. They had had many great moments, and some fun times even, but was he right?

"What about the time in Miami? You danced with me when that guy that I was salsaing with ditched me for the bathroom so that he could go puke up the previous ten drinks."

"Wait, so which part of that was the 'pleasure' part, Foster?"

"I had a great time!"

"You did, but it would've been more fun if you weren't being so self conscious. Tell me that I didn't make you uncomfortable, if you think I won't detect a lie on your face."

"_I have fun!"_

"Get back to eating those ribs, Foster, and we'll argue definitions later. Excuse me—I'm going to check in with Loker and see if he's got anything back about our mystery man from earlier."

Gillian sunk her teeth back into the rib meat and tried not to dwell on how right that he was. _I have so much fun, sometimes, right?_ She chewed some more, and let delicious sauce bring her back to the nirvana that Carolina barbecue can be. She felt like she couldn't fit anything else in, but after giving it her best shot, she saw Cal saunter back in, with a look that meant business.

"Good news, Foster. Ben got footage from the bank across the street and our building, and we've got that guy ID'd. It turns out he was, two years ago, a staff member under Senator Tenley from New York."

"Senator Tenley? Senator Tenley on the Defense Oversight Committee? Senator Tenley, whom we investigated all hush-hush for the NAACP?"

"Yes, _that_ Senator Tenley."

"Well, what's the man's name? What's he been doing for the last two years?"

"It's not about what he's been doing for the last two years. That, we don't know. It's about what he was doing _before_ he was under Senator Tenley," he said, with a gravity that he only took on when he was nervous. She heard it only when Emily had gotten herself into some sort of jam, or was under perceived threat. She saw a flash of it when Eric Matheson dragged Ria into the office under gunpoint.

"What was he doing?"

"He was an Army Ranger with an exceptional record and an even more exceptional mental aptitude. He was recruited straight into the NSA, whenceupon he disappeared off of the radar for four years, leading right up to a whole lot of nothing before he replaced a certain staff member who may have been leaking information to the State Department."

"Do we know anything more concrete about him?"

"Not yet," he said with some disappointment. He reached his arm across the table, and placed his hand onto Gillian's wrist. "Foster, we need to tread lightly, here. Not get ahead of ourselves, you know?"

"I'm not really worried," she said, lying through her teeth.

Cal looked closely at her for a prolonged moment, but turned his eyes down and away. That was the sign that she was giving too much away. He was trying to protect 'the line' again. "I know, love. I know."

"So... why don't we focus on the Hardwick case?


	4. Chapter 4

_Writer's note: So, I figured that I was on a roll, and wrote this new chapter this morning. I should warn y'all that I'm really going to take my time getting into the Callian side of things—I'm having a great time filling out the story. I'm still trying to figure out just how much I want to push them in this story, so please be patient! Feedback is totally welcome._

"Jennifer Hardwick?" Gillian called out from the doorway into the small office. It was in the tightly-packed grad student office building, which lacked some of the finer decorative elements which they had seen in other buildings on the campus. The campus as a whole wasn't exactly beautiful, but its inherent prestige meant that it didn't need to be. Unanswered but unhindered, Cal walked inside. Owen Hardwick's sister wasn't in her office, even though she'd insisted that they meet at her office at 3pm. Gillian watched Cal take in the small interior, which was packed from floor to ceiling with piles of books and papers.

"Is there an order to this?" he asked, almost to himself.

Gillian stepped into the ten by eight foot space, barely large enough for the desk and the two of them, and wondered how she managed. It was a glorified closet. "Maybe. I don't know anything about entomology, beside my general dislike of insects. I wouldn't know how to begin to organize these things."

"There may be some sort of order to this stuff. I'd bet that the order of the items is secondary to their presence."

Gillian noted that the piles of books and papers circled the entirety of the room, and reminded her of...

"It's a protective barrier."

"Like a cocoon."

"Are you a fan of _Lepidopterae_?" asked the reserved female voice which Gillian had encountered over the phone earlier in the day. Cal and Gillian spun around to see Jennifer Hardwick in the doorway. Gillian saw Cal take a small step backward in her peripheral vision, out of deference to her. He was right to. Despite Gillian's modesty, she _knew_ that she had a way of connecting with women. Not that he didn't. His way just required time, which they didn't have. Gillian extended her hand to introduce herself.

"I'm Gillian Foster, and this is my associate Cal Lightman."

"Right." she said, crossing her arms, her head tilted to the side, facial muscles tightened.

_ She doesn't trust us._"What is a... umm... 'Lepidop...'?" Gillian asked, intending to put the young woman at ease by returning the subject of discussion back to her control.

"_Lepidopterae_. It's the order of insects which includes butterflies and moths," she replied, her tone slightly less rigid, but her facial muscles still tensed. "I heard you mention cocoons."

"Are _you_ a fan of butterflies?"

Jennifer turned her eyes up to the ceiling and sharply inhaled. _Was that a brief moment of grief?_

"I'm doing my thesis on cockroaches, actually."

Jennifer Hardwick was a very clean, practical dresser, despite her disordered office. Or perhaps because of it. Her dark brown hair was cut in layers, framing the soft freckled face of a 25-year-old. She wore a pair of diamond studs. _Did she receive those as a gift? Or was it inherited from her late mother?_ Her sweater set and perfunctory khakis indicated that she cared enough to present herself respectably, but in a way that required the least possible effort. She was low-maintenance by design.

"Do you mind if we continue our conversation elsewhere?" Gillian asked, waiting for the reaction, "I have a... discomfort with small spaces."

Jennifer's face relaxed, but showed the briefest flash of worry. _Confirmed. She needs to control her space._

"Sure—let's go down to the cafe on the bottom floor."

As Jennifer led the way Gillian looked to Cal for input. He wasn't about to say anything aloud, but the two of them had become so attuned at reading one another during interviews that they may as well have been the same person. Cal seemed to signal his approval of her approach, and that perhaps he had spotted something of use in Jennifer's office while they were talking.

"So, remind me who you work for?" Jennifer asked, as they went down the stairs.

"We work for ourselves. We are partners in Lightman Group, a consulting firm which deals with cases requiring... a special investigative approach."

Jennifer stopped at a landing and looked at the two of them with some doubt, as many had before her. "And you're investigating Owen? Why?"

_She really doesn't know who we are. She didn't send the video._

Cal jumped in, "Did Owen contact you in the last... month or so?"

Jennifer's brown eyes immediately welled up, and she looked away. Gillian saw her lower lip quiver. _Genuine loss. Grief. Guilt?_Jennifer walked down the stairs at a clip, which Gillian was a bit uncomfortable keeping up with in the new shoes. Cal was right behind her.

"No, he didn't."

"I'm sorry," Gillian called out, and placed a hand on the crook of Jennifer's arm. She stopped, and turned to assess them again. "We haven't expressed our regret to you over the loss of your brother."

"It's okay," she said, her voice quivering, her body struggling to keep itself under control.

"You were very close at one time, yeah?" Cal offered, his hands in his pockets, his head turned down and to the side non-threateningly.

Jennifer looked from Gillian to Cal and then back to Gillian, as though trying to convince herself of something.

"We were. He was six years older than me, but he looked after me all through my childhood. He... he even... he's come to my rescue more than once," she said, her breathing increasing in rapidity. "The cafe is right through that door."

They followed her down the stairs in silence, through the door, and as they passed through, Gillian saw Cal signal something to her.

"Pardon me," he said, "I need to go make a phone call. I'll be back in a tick."

Gillian watched Jennifer's eyes follow Cal out of sight, and knew that she had a better chance on her own at trying to determine what Jennifer was trying to hide. _Was that guilt? What over? Does she think that she's responsible somehow, for her brother's suicide? _Gillian smiled slightly at Jennifer in an attempt to be sympathetic and reassuring. "Can I get you something to drink? A tea, or a cup of coffee?"

"Sure, I'll take an herbal tea."

"I'll be right back. Why don't you find us a nice place to sit and I'll find you?"

While at the counter, Gillian knew that Jennifer would not be watching her, so she snuck some looks over at the girl. Her sadness was profound, and seemed to fill the entire room even with its high ceilings and large windows. The cloudy day outside back-lit the young woman, who had been orphaned entirely by her brother's sudden departure. They had already lost both of their parents only four years previously in a small plane accident. Jennifer was in her last semester at New York University. She would have already decided upon Virginia Tech as the doctorate program for her field in entomology. She and Cal suspected that it was no coincidence that her brother Owen had left his previous post-doctoral research at the prestigious and high-paying private bio-tech firm Manning for a lower-paying position at Virginia Tech.

Bringing the teas over to Jennifer, she saw that she was still staring unfocused into space, her brows knitted in what looked to be a mixture of grief and confusion. _What happened to drive them apart, if they were so close before? Why hadn't she heard from her brother? He mentioned her so prominently in the video._

"There you go. They had a choice between chamomile and rooibos, so I chose chamomile." Gillian said, softening her voice, "I hope that I didn't choose incorrectly?"

"No, of course not. Thank you."

"May I call you Jennifer?" Gillian asked, waiting for the nod, "Jennifer, I hope that I can put you at ease by telling you that Dr. Lightman and I aren't here to make trouble for your brother."

"Then why are you here?"

"We're trying to help. Indirectly, your brother has asked us for our help, and we're doing our best."

"What kind of help?"

"Jennifer, can you tell me why Owen left his post-doctoral appointment here at Virginia Tech for his position at Peneagle?"

"Better money, I suppose." _Dammit. Where's Cal? We don't have a camera set up, and she is lying._

"But didn't Owen quit a similarly higher-paying post-doc at Manning for Virginia Tech, only two years before that?" she countered, as supportive as possible. Gillian crossed her feet together at her ankles out of nervousness, and was forced to wince as she knocked directly into the blistered heel. Jennifer Hardwick was looking nervous too, and evasive.

"I... uh... He might have been just trying things out in academia again. You know, it's hard... to figure out where you belong."

"But you don't know why he'd quit?"

"No."

_ False._

Gillian let the silence sit between the two of them, and took a sip from her own tea. She saw Cal in the background, over the shoulder of Jennifer. It appeared that he was watching her, _not Jennifer Hardwick_. Gillian pulled herself back to the situation at hand, trying to focus.

"Do you know anyone that Owen worked with in his lab here?" she asked, looking down at the blue folder which she'd kept closed until now. She flipped through the pages looking for Owen Hardwick's curriculum vitae, but not because she didn't know which lab he worked at.

"In Keenan lab?" Jennifer offered helpfully, "I know Terry Keenan, his previous umm... boss there. He became friends with Dr. Keenan—he and his wife had us over for dinner once a month, or more, sometimes."

"Dr. Keenan must have been sorry to see him leave to go back to industry, then?" Gillian asked, watching her carefully, but aware that Cal was also watching her. Her reaction: _she flinched_. _There's bad blood somewhere in there, between Keenan and Owen Hardwick. _

"He was. He tried to get him to reconsider," she said, with her mouth turned down slightly. _She knows something that Keenan doesn't know._

"Jennifer, thank you for your help," she said, knowing that she had gotten about as much as she would for today. She glanced for a moment over at Cal, indicating that she was wrapping it up, and that he should make himself scarce. "Dr. Lightman and I will be in touch with you. If we find out... if we find out anything, we'll let you know."

"Thanks."

"Would it be all right if we attended the memorial service?"

"Sure. It's this evening, at 8pm. It's here on campus in the Thames Room."

As Gillian followed Cal to where he had absconded the moment before, she tried to temper her annoyance with him. However, upon encountering him at the steps leading down from the graduate student office building, her frustration rose. Her annoyance at his strange monitoring of her enveloped her, as though she had just dumped the remainder of her tea over her head.

"Cal, do you realize that you left me at a critical point!"

"What are you talking about, Foster? You handled her well."

"She was _lying_, Cal. And we _don't_ have video, and I _didn't have you_ to decrypt whatever coded message that she was hiding in her face!"

"Oh, come on, Foster. You did fine."

"How would you know! You were all of the way across the room!"

"I was watching you. I know what I need to know."

Gillian breathed deeply. _What is he getting at? _"Were you READING ME?" she asked, her voice incredulous, arms crossed tightly.

"No."

"You weren't?"

"No," he repeated, but Gillian examined him closely, suspicious. "Honest! Geezus, Foster, you're being paranoid. Has it occurred to you that you don't always need me? That she would not have even gotten to the point of lying about whatever it was she was lying about if I had been around!Contrary to rumors around the office, I _am not_ a psychic."

Gillian calmed down a bit, realizing that she sounded more than a little paranoid. And maybe even co-dependent, which she never wanted anyone to consider her as being.

"Foster, I trust your opinion. I don't need to double-check whatever it is that you see with some video. You know that you are more than capable of running this case, or any other, on your own."

"Then... why were you watching me?" she asked, a little nervously, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

Cal dug his hands into his pockets and looked away. "I was just admiring your technique, love."

When he made eye contact with her, she realized that she was desperate to verify his admiration. She felt that if she just had one small glimpse of earnest admiration from him right then, that it would make up for the damned blister, the long hours at work, not to mention all of the little tugs-of-war that they got into.

_Got it._

She couldn't stop herself from smiling. It was a small smile, and she tried her best to keep it from showing up, but some things just can't be prevented.

"Where to next, darling?" he said, interrupting her silent scolding of herself for having smiled.

Gillian looked down, and pulled out the blue file again. She flipped through the pages until she found the CV. She took a deep breath.

"We've got to hit up the Keenan lab. Talk to as many people who overlapped with Owen Hardwick's stay here as we can, particularly Keenan himself. It seems that they were close."

"Do you think that someone in Keenan lab sent the video?"

"Maybe," she said, thinking back to the look of disapproval that she had caught in Jennifer's face when she talked about Keenan trying to prevent her brother's departure. "I get the sense that something that involves Keenan and her brother contributed to her brother's departure. I'll tell you more about it later. For now, we're going to find a hotel to check into, and a change of clothes for me to wear tomorrow."

"Staying overnight, are we?" he asked, presumably surprised that she had become as enmeshed in the case as he was.

"We're going to have to. There's a memorial service tonight, which means we'll have follow-ups to do tomorrow before we head back to D.C."


End file.
